Title: Three’s Not Company, Four’s Not a Crowd
Prompt:
writerverse challenge #13 ‘333 Words’
Word Count: 333
Rating: G
Original/Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairings:: Sam Carter/Jack O’Neill
Warnings: none (technically, this is part of my
SG-1 future!verse but can stand alone.)
Summary: Jack thinks three is a good number for a family
Note(s): originally posted to the
writerverse wv_bookclub Three's Not Company, Four's Not a Crowd
Jack hadn’t remembered how exhausting having a kid was until Jake started sleeping through the night, and that meant he could, too. He had missed this stage with Charlie, though, so he was determined not to waste his second chance. But there were days, like this one, when he wondered if, maybe, he wasn’t too old for this.
“You act like a teenager half the time, anyway,” said Sam, dryly, seeming to read his mind as she picked Cheerios out of her hair. “Give him a few years, and he’ll catch up to you.”
Jack grinned. “You say the sweetest things, Carter.”
Almost-two-year-old Jake giggled at them from his high chair, reaching again for his bowl of cereal.
“Hey, kiddo,” said Jack, catching the tiny hand. “Food goes in your mouth. We can find something else to throw at your mom later.”
“Mom throws things back,” Sam warned, leaning over to kiss the top of her son’s head, and Jake giggled again.
Jack grinned and helped himself to some Cheerios. Sam was certainly still in fighting shape. She still went on missions with SG-1, but it was much easier to convince her to take time off than it used to be, now that she had the two of them to come home to.
Some people might have thought that three was a crowd, but Jack thought it was just about perfect.
“Jack,” said Sam, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m going to be getting some leave in a few months. What do you say we go up to the cabin, just the four of us.”
He did a quick mental count: himself, Sam, Jake and-
“Four?” he repeated, trying not to hope, but not doing a very good job of it.
Sam nodded, grinning.
Jack pulled her into a fierce kiss, one hand over her still-flat stomach.
Three had been good, more than he’d dared to hope for when Sam had, inexplicably, agreed to marry him, but four… Four sounded like exactly the right number.
THE END
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